Questioning Beliefs
by Visible Monsters
Summary: Chronicling the struggles of Hawke's friends with each other and within themselves beyond Kirkwall. Post DA: 2 and just barely AU. Multiple character pairings & eventual involvement of DA:O characters.
1. Prologue: Running

It was an incident I'd never forget.

Years later, I asked Mother and Bethany if they remembered that day.

They didn't.

Father would have remembered.

It had just been a spark.

I hadn't meant to shock her.

I was excited over the new trick, proud I'd discovered it all on my own.

Proud that I could do what Father only did in secret.

**Magic.**

I remember Bethany's loud wail and my own eight year old self, frightened and watching my younger sister's face contort and turn red with her fearful wailing.

I hadn't meant to hurt her.

Mother rushed out the back door of our home, ears acutely attuned to the sound of her youngest child's anguish.

"Bethany?" she exclaimed as she briskly rushed over, shooting a suspicious glare at me. I stared back, wide-eyed and speechless. Mother searched a still bawling Bethany and discovered a small burn on the palm of her pudgy hand. "Taea! What have you done? How did this happen!?"

Back then, I equated her shaking tone with anger. Now I know she was only afraid of what it meant for us.

So I started running.

"Taea!" Mother called, as I ran for the trees behind our home, the fear in my sister's eyes and the sounds of her whimpering permanently burned into my eyes and ears. _"Taea!"_

I remember tearing through the thick brush to hide until Father was to return.

I remember my brother appearing hours later, looking up into the branches of my favorite tree, where I'd settled myself in hiding.

"Father's home," Carver announced, with the hint of a smirk on his face and '_you're in trouble_' in his voice. Even at age five, he'd been unbearably smug, the little prig.

I remember being terrified to cross the threshold of our home, terrified of what Mother might have told Father.

I remember entering the room and seeing him sitting in his favorite chair. I immediately burst into tears, blubbering an incoherent explanation before he could even get a single word out.

"Taea," he said, when I'd finished with my tearful apologies. Instead of yelling like I'd fully expected, he rose from the chair and gathered me up in his arms, wiping my face with his sleeve. "Don't cry, love. Bethany is fine. I need you to show me what happened. You won't hurt me, I promise."

After more coaxing, I hesitantly tried to bring back the tingle of electricity into my fingers while he watched carefully.

He gave a small smile once I was able to produce a small sparkle.

All I could do was nod meekly as he explained what was happening to me, what I must and mustn't do, and how we were going to make sure no one else got hurt.

"Do you understand, Taea?" was all he asked me before taking me to apologize to Bethany, whom he'd already healed.

"Yes," I answered, and I did understand.

While Bethany had forgotten the incident merely a few weeks later, I held the guilt over my own head for much longer.

Within the year, I accidentally shocked the boy who worked on our farm and we had to run away for the first time, to the outskirts of a village too small to even have a Chantry.

Soon enough, Bethany began having her own 'incidents,' as we came to call them, which all eventually floated away throughout the years, forgotten in the dusty corners of our minds, just like all the homes we've had since then.

It's funny, in a twisted way.

I haven't stopped running since then.


	2. At Sea: Before the Storm

I lean against a post as the vessel sways in rhythm with the waves.

Across from me, Carver sharpens his greatsword. I watch for a few moments. His brow is furrowed, his eyes focused, thoroughly absorbed in the task. He abruptly looks up and his eyes meet mine. Our mother's hazel Amell eyes. The grinding noise of stone against steel pauses.

Maker only knows what he's thinking. I've never been adept at reading my younger brother's thoughts.

I don't know if he blames me for all that's happened. Vaguely, I wonder if he despises me for pushing him into the Wardens. If he trusts me in any capacity.

I focus on my hands in front of me, running my fingers over the runes embedded in the staff that once belonged to Father.

Carver continues to sharpen his blade, the scraping sounds slow and deliberate. I gaze off into the fog, feeling a light spray of mist on my face.

To my left, Jory growls and twitches as he sleeps, probably dreaming of chasing darkspawn and biting Lowtown criminals. I reach out to scratch him behind the ears. He gives a soft bark of approval in his sleep.

"I'm going to be sick," Bethany abruptly announces from my right, closing her eyes tight and frowning. Carver's head jerks up at the sound of her voice. It's just like the trip to Kirkwall all over again: Bethany getting sick over the ledge of the boat, Carver and Mother pretending not to feel the same in an attempt to make her feel less ill. I don't envy her the seasickness.

"Hate to break up the little family reunion, but we're about to pull into port," Isabela announces, appearing from the front deck.

"We shouldn't be seen," Carver agrees, standing up and then reaching out to help Bethany up. He's grown even more protective of our younger sister since we left Kirkwall, the least of it being the threatening glares he shoots any of Isabela's crewmen who eye our sister too long to be considered polite.

I leave Jory on deck to continue his nap and stand to follow my siblings. I pause when I reach the stairs leading below deck.

"Isabela," I start, turning back to her. "I should say thank you. For everything."

"Don't get mushy on me, Hawke," she waves my words away good-heartedly, crossing her arms with a smile.

"I mean it," I insist. "I've asked you to risk a lot for me over the years-"

"And you killed both Castillon and the Arishok to protect me. We're even," she retorts with finality. "I know Varric says it's not a good story unless the hero dies, but I'd rather not see your head on a pike, so..."

I smile in response and head below deck as she starts shouting commands to her crew.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Here I thought the broody mage act would stop once you moved in with Hawke," Varric goads, refilling his tankard. "Have you been taking lessons from Fenris?"

"Don't. Not now, Varric," Anders replies, stony-faced and glum. They're both unaware of my presence as I linger in the doorway of Varric's suite.

"Loosen up, Blondie. Let me buy you a pint; maybe you'll even remember how to have fun."

"No, I don't think so."

"Is Justice being a wet blanket again?" Varric continues to prod.

"I'd prefer you not speak of him. Not tonight."

"Have it your way, Blondie." I sigh inwardly as Varric finally looks up to see me at the door.

"Hawke!" he greets, throwing his arms up. "You've got to hear the latest rumors..."

I settle into the seat next to Anders. He gives me a small smile but won't make eye contact with me for more than a few seconds. Varric sends me pointed glances but continues to chatter to cover up the fact that he can sense something is off between the two of us tonight. He shoots me pointed looks more than a few times. I can only shrug at him helplessly.

Soon enough, Merrill wanders in, followed by Isabela, who brings a fresh round of pints.

Aveline and Donnic appear when we're well into a heated round of Wicked Grace, and everyone stops to congratulate them on the fact that they've just found out they're expecting.

"Have you thought of many names?" Merrill questions brightly. She appears to be finally overcoming the death of the Keeper after dwelling on it for so long.

"How about 'Marigold?'" Isabela suggests innocently, and I have to laugh.

"Only if you're the godmother," Aveline retorts. Isabela snorts into her cup.

"Maker, how awkward would that be? Could you imagine me around your children? All the new words they'd learn... '_Mummy, what's a slattern?'"_ she laughs.

"Then I'll just point at you and say, '_that's_ a slattern.'"

"Touche, big girl," Isabela nods approvingly, raising her tankard in Aveline's direction. Aveline smiles and Donnic drinks in her stead, one arm wrapped around her waist.

Fenris only shows up after I've expected him not to.

I feel strangely overwhelmed when we all get up to leave. It's been the most relaxed night we've had in a long time. Fenris and Anders haven't begun their tiresome argument of mages, neither of them condemn Merrill for her previous use of blood magic, and I get a fleeting sense of premonition when I think of the fact that this could be the last time we all get together in such a pleasant manner.

"You've been awfully quiet," I observe, as Anders and I walk back to the estate.

"Yes." He distractedly glances around the dark Hightown streets. I don't pry.

I only look at him as he shrugs off his coat and I shut and lock the door behind us. When he meets my eyes, I kiss him.

"Taea," he stops me, placing his hands on my shoulders. It's then that I notice how weary he truly looks.

"Bodahn and Sandal are gone, remember?" I assure him, leaning up to press my lips against his neck softly. They left for Orlais just this morning. His hands run down my arms and to my waist, pulling me against him while he rests his forehead against mine.

"That's not what I meant," he says, and I finally hear a hint of amusement in his voice. I pull back to grin at him.

"It's hard to know what you mean when you hide up there in your head," I retort, some seriousness behind my teasing tone.

"Sometimes...I believe Justice has forced me to bear much more than I can handle. I don't want to crumble under the burden. I don't want you to have to watch me break from it," he admits.

"Let me share it, then," I try to coax him, brushing a strand of hair from his face. He smiles softly, brushing a thumb over my cheek before leaning down to press his lips to mine.

"Sometimes, you're the only one who can keep him at bay. I don't want to lose you, Hawke. But I fear the day will come sooner than we hope."

"You're not making any sense," I frown. He only shakes his head.

"I'd give anything for us to go far from this place and never look back."

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

"You're the one that should be getting courted, not me," Mother smiles as I begin to dress myself.

"Somehow, I doubt any of the eligible nobles of this city would be thrilled to wed someone who can shoot ice from her hands," I shrug off her unrealistic wishes that I marry into Kirkwall elite. I realize that this might have been my life, if not for the magic. Carver would hate it. Bethany might love it. I'm unsure how I'd feel, though I'm sure I'll get a taste of it tonight.

Mother smells the flowers she's received and then leaves my room.

It stirs something in my memory, but I push it aside.

"Seneschal Bran is just about your age. As is Viscount Dumar's son..." Mother continues. I hear her setting down her white flowers in a vase near the balcony.

"I...don't think I'm his type, Mother," I reply, slipping into the turquoise gown she's chosen for me.

"Well, it's a shame you don't have an escort to the ball tonight," she calls from the other room. "What of that elf you were so fond of? I've seen the way you look at each other... Or the healer? Anders, is it?"

_"Mother..."_ I groan back, adjusting my gown then stepping in front of the mirror to examine myself.

"He reminds me of your father, that one." I don't bother to inform her that things never quite worked out with Fenris and I don't even know where Anders and I currently stand in that sense.

"The invitation's just a courtesy, for saving Saemus a few years ago," I inform her. "I don't need an escort." And if I did, it wouldn't be my priority to bring an escaped slave or rebellious apostate traipsing around in plain view of Hightown nobles.

If Carver were here, I might have convinced him to accompany me. He would hate it. Bethany would've enjoyed dressing up, if she'd not been taken by the templars.

I step away from my reflection and out of my room.

"Oh!" Mother exclaims, when she sees me. "You look like an **Amell!" **

I want to correct her.

_I'm a Hawke. _But I keep my mouth closed to let her have the moment.

"Would that your father could see you," her eyes shine slightly with wetness. "You know, there was a ball the night your father came to ask me to run away with him."

"You never mentioned that before," I curiously remark. She smiles, remembering.

"I suppose didn't much think of Kirkwall when your father was alive." She walks up to me, pushing a strand of loose hair behind my ear. She kisses my forehead. "You are everything I could have hoped for in my eldest. Enjoy yourself tonight, love."

I want to tell her that it's nice she's stopped blaming me for what's happened with Carver and Bethany, but I bite my tongue.

A few months later, we find her murdered at the hands of a blood mage.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Taea," Father rouses me from my sleep. For a split second, I fear we'll have to run again; that someone in Lothering's found us out and that templars are on their way at this very moment. But his demeanor is calm and I relax, rubbing at my eyes and yawning. "I wanted to say goodbye before I go."

"Will you be back in time for my birthday?" I hesitantly ask, dreading an answer I don't want to hear.

"I plan to be, little bird," he fondly replies. "But I have an early gift for you."

"What is it?" I sit up with a smile.

"You'll be 18 soon, Taea. I need your word that you'll take care of your mother and Carver, and watch over Bethie especially. You are the eldest, and should something happen to me, keeping them safe must always be your priority," he says, turning uncharacteristically solemn while he speaks.

"Of course, Father," I answer, and a smile breaks on his face before brings out a staff from behind his back and hands it to me. "It's...amazing." I run my hand over the darkly polished staff, admiring the color and surprising lack of weight. "Thank you." His cerulean eyes twinkle with a smile and I put down the staff to hug him gratefully. He kisses me on the cheek before going to rouse Mother and my siblings to bid them farewell before he leaves on another job.

It's the last time I ever see him.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

In the captain's quarters, Isabela names ports I've never heard of in countries I've never visited.

The way she describes it, it's an odd, loping route. Just in case.

"You don't have to go through all this trouble," I argue, as she traces her finger along her map.

"Hawke," she pauses to roll her eyes at me. "Must we keep having this conversation?"

"I'll make it up to you. Somehow..." I continue, ignoring her.

"You helped me acquire this damned ship. Just think of yourselves as my guests," she says, and I sigh, finally giving up on the subject. She turns her attention back to her maps. "Anyway, they're only suggestions. I haven't decided our route for sure. Whatever keeps us away from trouble will have to suffice."

"Thank you," I reply, standing up. She glares at me good-naturedly, one hand on her hip.

"Andraste's tits, Hawke!" she exclaims, exasperated. "If you thank me one more time, I swear-"

I slip out the door with a cheeky grin before she can finish her threat.

I head down the long corridor, not surprised when no sounds but the waves striking the ship assault my ears. I pause at the farthest door.

Anders has refused to come out of his cabin since we left Kirkwall almost a week ago. I don't knock or barge in, but resolve to bring him food later.

Instead, I go to find Carver and Bethany on the main deck. I exchange a look with Carver when I find them, but I'm unsure what I'm trying to convey. We haven't told Bethany what we learned about Father. We don't want her to think less of him for it.

"Sister..." Bethany begins. "What will we do now?"

I bite my lip. I wish I knew what to tell her.

"We're going to eat dinner," I inform her, grinning, though it falters when she looks away.

"Sister..." she huffs in exasperation. Carver says nothing.

We join Merrill at a table. She lights up when my brother chooses the seat next to her, but he's too thick to notice.

Fenris is nowhere to be found.

I study my younger siblings as we eat a mostly quiet meal with Merrill.

I was too late to save Mother, but I still have Carver and Bethany.

I rub at my forehead, willing away a building migraine.

For the first time in my life, I don't know how in the world I'm supposed to keep them safe.


	3. At Sea: Nothing and Everything

I stand at the window, watching the water ebb and flow against itself.

Her arms wrap around my middle from behind, her face resting against my shoulder blades. I feel her curves pressed against my back and close my eyes.

It isn't long before her lips find their way to my neck and her hands slide under my clothing.

Part of me wants to tell her I don't want this, not tonight.

Most of me wants to forget. Forget the past few days, weeks, even years of my life.

But it's never been easy for me to let go of memories. Not the few pleasant ones I have.

I turn around to lower my mouth onto hers. She nips at my lips playfully, her hands already working the familiar clasps of my clothing, letting them drop to the floor.

She kisses and bites her way down my bare chest, her golden eyes looking up at me wickedly as she takes me whole in her mouth. I let out a few repressed groans as she moves, keeping my hand tangled in her dark waves of hair.

She places her lips back on mine sooner than I'd like and I heft her onto the desk beside us. I undo the laces on her shift and she lifts it over her head.

She gives a generous moan as her legs wrap around me and I begin to press into her, my hands exploring her body all the while. She sucks at my neck as her hands grasp my shoulders. She's liberal with the enticing noises that leave her lips every time our hips meet, but I still find it difficult to let go completely. I muffle myself in her sweet-smelling hair when we finish.

"I like that you're quiet," she informs me, after we've moved to her bed. "Most men sound like pigs rutting."

I don't immediately reply. Her fingers lightly trace over the lyrium markings on my skin.

"You're in good spirits," I remark.

"Yes, well... I have all that I need," is her only answer. "But you seem lacking in...well, something." I say nothing. "You still love her," she concludes, her coppery eyes boring into mine.

"Isabela, I-"

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, sweet thing," she interrupts, stretching and giving us some space. I stare at the ceiling of her cabin.

"I'm sorry," I finally say.

"For what?" she asks absently, yawning. She meets my eyes directly, revealing no ill will or regret. In this moment, I almost feel as if I could love her, or perhaps, at the very least, be happy here.

But I still lie awake ages after she dozes off, with a heavy feeling in my stomach.

As per usual, I fail to understand my own guilt.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

Who is Hawke to me?

At one time, she was nothing - at another, everything.

I still cannot decide.

I shouldn't be surprised that what was supposed to be an uneventful trip to the coast turned into this.

I should have known nothing is ever uneventful whenever Taea Hawke is involved.

"You must be the clumsiest mage I've ever known," I grumble, helping her up nonetheless. "And I've known more mages than I care to recall," I add. Her cheeks tint themselves pink, whether from exertion or from annoyance, I can't tell. Her dark hair is mussed from the fall, brown waves framing her tanned and defiant face.

Once she's back on her feet, she jerks her arm away from me with a scowl. _Stubborn. As expected._

She turns for the opposite direction, but a step on her bad foot makes her nearly buckle, and I grasp her elbow before she can fall again.

"It might be broken," she sighs, carefully attempting another step and wincing. "I should see Anders."

Is it my imagination, or does her tone of voice lift as if she were to off to meet the Maker himself?

My jaw clenches just at the thought of being anywhere near the abomination, let alone at his doorstep, in his clinic. She notices.

"I can escort myself to the clinic," she frostily announces, her head high. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "If you deign to be seen in that part of Kirkwall," she finishes. I swallow, equally torn between my hatred of both being in the abomination's presence and leaving Hawke alone with him.

"You can barely walk," I point out, but she turns her head. Walking with a wince, she continues on. My eyes roll towards the sky._Festis bei umo canavarum._ I slip an arm around her waist and sling her arm around my shoulder, letting her use me as a crutch.

"Thank you," Hawke spits out, partly bitter but mostly grateful. _Mages. _

If she's as affected as I am by the barest brushes of our hot skin against each other as we stumble our way back to Kirkwall, she's about as willing to show it as I am.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I pace, my discomfort surely apparent just by my gait and expression. I imagine little smells worse than Darktown, though I say nothing about it. The clinic is even worse, the awful rotting flesh smell of the slum meshing with poultices and decontaminants of the abomination's clinic.

"Let me know when it hurts," Anders instructs, watching her face as he gingerly moves her now-swollen ankle just barely in a circular motion. She tries her hardest not to wince while he carefully watches her expression. Her lips purse with the effort, but she stares defiantly back. I see his lips curl upwards in amusement from the corner of my eyes. "Definitely broken."

"If only all healers were as astute as you," I snipe.

"I can fix it," he adds, pointedly ignoring me. "If you would only stay still for a moment." She shoots him a glare paired with a non-commital grunt that is just so..._Hawke. _He only responds with an amused smirk and suddenly the room feels smaller.

But she's still as a statue while he summons mana and almost caresses her ankle as he heals it. The expression on her face changes from childish stubbornness to curiosity.

I turn away. I can feel the lyrium itching in my skin.

I vaguely hear him mutter something under his breath, followed by the musical sound of her laughter.

I leave without a word.

I barely hear the distracted "Fenris?" that follows me out the door.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Hawke is the kind of woman that I can't be sure I'd sooner kiss or kill.

As it happens, it has always been the former.

"You may not wear chains anymore, but you're not free," she states arrogantly, glaring at me, challenging me. I've never known her to be anything besides purely infuriating in all the years I've known her.

"You know nothing!" I growl dangerously. Nothing about anything.

"I know that your hate makes it impossible for you to truly be free," she retorts.

Without a second thought, I realize I've slammed her into the wall and my markings start glowing a faint but still dangerous blue. My blood races. It confuses me, hurts my head, and she looks startled. Not even scared, like she should be. And then she kisses me.

_Stupid bloody mage._

Doesn't she realize what I can do to her?

All it would take was a deliberate flare of lyrium to end her, for the fire to flee from her eyes, for them to turn lifeless and cold.

Her lips crush against mine, surprisingly soft and pliant. I feel her heart pounding against my chest as I fade and she pushes me against the wall like I've just done to her. If my anger and want battle, want wins ten times over. Her lips fight with mine, as do our tongues - nonverbally, for once.

We've never truly been friends, but my hands slips farther down her waist. I hiss as her hips press against mine, and I swear I feel her smirk against my neck. I restrain myself from pushing her off of me.

I should be disgusted.

This? With a _mage?_**  
**

We're not friends. How could we be? Yet...not enemies, either.

Rivals. Yes. That will do.

She inhales sharply as one of my hands slip inside her clothes, meeting her warm skin. She pulls away, face flushed and panting slightly.

She's so beautiful, and tonight, I hate her for it.

Her normally adept fingers fumble with the unfamiliar clasps of my armor once we're behind her closed bedroom door. My hands grasp her arms, stopping her, despite the defiant look on her face, despite the fire in her cerulean eyes. If my grip is too tight, she makes no complaints.

I let go long enough to unceremoniously drop my gauntlets and chestplate to the ground. I can feel her heavy gaze as I shed my under-armor. I truly despise her in this moment - that blatant curiosity as her eyes trace the lyrium markings down my bare chest.

So I close the short distance between us, crushing my lips against hers and tugging her clothes open, maybe rougher than necessary. She shudders as I run my palms across her skin and let her outer garments pool at her feet. I pause to catch my breath, marveling at her smooth, tan skin, and desperately wondering how someone as beautiful as Hawke can be so deadly. Not dangerous to me, of course, I could reach out and phase a hand through her throat at this very moment.

_Couldn't I?_

"You're staring, Fenris," she remarks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"What can I say, Hawke?" I ask, dipping my head towards her collarbone, "You distract easily."

"I can do more than distract," she quips, pressing her body against mine in a way that makes my throat dry. She runs her hands down my chest to the laces of my pants. I feel her fingers tracing my lyrium markings and abruptly shove her away.

Her face is the portrait of surprise before it changes to hard confusion.

"You may not like me, Fenris, but you can trust me," she glares, the blue-green of her eyes full of heat and determination. A different feeling hits me in the pit of my stomach. Guilt? "Do you want me? Do you want this? Maker, tell me."

I open my mouth, but I don't know what I mean to say. Instead, I pull her in for another kiss.

Before I know it, we're tangled in each other on the soft sheets of her bed.

I bury my face in her neck as she cries out for the final time, her legs wrapped around me and fingers digging into my back.

It's easier not to look her in the eyes.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Fenris does not belong to you," Hawke calls to my former master, clutching her staff with a dangerous grip.

"Do I detect jealousy, Champion? It's understandable, of course. My pet is rather...skilled, isn't he?" Danarius taunts, and I feel a burn of shame when Hawke briefly glances at me, understanding what I've never wanted her to know about my time as a slave. My rage flickers in the form of lyrium flaring across my skin.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" I find myself shouting as we throw ourselves into battle. Anger clouds my mind until I rip Danarius' heart out myself. He drops to the ground, dead, yet I feel nothing but emptiness. I turn to glower at my sister, still glowing a faint blue.

"Leto, please-" Varania pleads, cowering from me. "Mercy!"

"Don't call me 'Leto,'" I growl at her, reaching for the collar to tear her heart out as well.

"Fenris-" Hawke stops me.

"She is nothing to me," I argue, already predicting what Hawke will say.

"At one time, she was your sister," she reminds me. I look down at the woman who would sell out her own kin for a magister.

"Get out," I spit venomously, releasing her. She starts to run, then pauses at the door.

"You said you never asked for this, but that's not true," Varania hesitantly informs me. "You wanted it. You competed for it. You used the boon to free Mother."

"Why are you telling me this?" I turn away, shutting my eyes and trying to process her words. My heart pumps with adrenaline from the fight and my head hurts with this new information.

It appears magic has tainted everything yet again.

It follows me wherever I go, staining my life, and forever leaving me feeling unclean.

"Get out," I repeat. Varania scampers away without another word.

"Fenris..." Hawke interjects, and her concern startles me. "Is there anything I can do?"

I glance at her, wondering how someone who always seems content to be at my throat could seem so concerned at such a personal detail of my past.

"No."

I find comfort elsewhere after the sun goes down.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

I wake only after disturbing dreams of memories mixed with unfamiliar faces and locations.

I'm almost embarrassed to find my arm wrapped around Hawke's bare waist. Most of her face is pressed against her pillow, her brown waves of hair mussed.

I draw my arm back, unsure. My head aches with memories I can't seem to recall. I find myself somewhat disgusted with how badly I'd like to stay and look at her for awhile. With how badly I want her. Ache for her. I want to kiss her, but instead I drag myself to sit at the edge of the bed to try to make sense of my dreams. She doesn't stir. _Thank the Maker._

I feel better only after I dress myself in my armor as if I were going into battle. Protected._ Sane._

I stand at the fireplace, debating whether to leave, when she speaks. It startles me but I didn't move.

"That bad?" she asks, a light tone masking darker implications. I turn to face her. I open my mouth, but a few seconds pass before I can bring myself to verbalize anything.

"It was...fine," I reply, wanting very much for the conversation to end there. Her impossibly blue-green eyes lower to the floor. I immediately backtrack like the fool I am.

"I...misspoke. It was better than I could have imagined," I admit begrudgingly, still focusing my gaze anywhere but Hawke's eyes. I wish I were lying.

"I think I'm recieving mixed signals here," she states, an ironic tone in her voice.

"Hawke, I...I can't. This was a mistake," the words tumble from my lips as the panic rises in my head.

"Obviously," her voice turns cold. Too harsh for me to swallow.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I wish..." _I wish I could be happy. Even for a little while. _My voice sounds odd to my own ears. Pleading. _With a mage_.

Every second I remain makes me feel dirty.

"You can't even look me in the eyes," she observes, and I say nothing in defense. "You can show yourself out, I trust?" she states blandly, turning away. Her hands reached for the sheets to cover herself. I start for the door, not looking back.

"I'm sorry," I try again, weakly. I'm unsure if she's heard.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Mage...mages...are not...in-" I begin. She waits patiently, watching me from her seat across the table. "Inherit...inherently. Mages are not inherently corrupt..." I stop to look at her. Her face is neutral.

We've not killed Danarius but a few weeks ago, yet she still believes most of her kind are capable of possessing redeemable qualites?

Just thinking of the man and what I was to him, what I had to do for him- makes me sick with rage. My throat tightens uncomfortably.

"You think to use this filth to convert me to your cause?" I demand with a twisted grimace. I push the bound papers away from me, so violently that they tumble to the floor. "Your tricks won't work, Hawke," I say as I stand. Was I such a fool to believe that she had no motives in teaching me to read?

She immediately kneels down to gather the book in her arms, glaring up at me, her eyes sharp.

"There is no trick, Fenris. I just thought-"

"Thought what?" I sneer. "Thought because you've helped me I'd sympathize with your bloody 'plight?'" I say, with steadily increasing volume. "Do you think to turn me into your pathetic-"

"I'm trying to help you," she insists, her eyes shining fiercely. "I'm trying to thank you."

"Has it occurred to you that I don't want your pity?" I growl, perhaps unfairly.

"Get out," she abruptly commands, slamming the book down onto the desk.

My eyes catch the only other words on the page besides the title: T-A-E-A-H-A-W-K-E.

I storm out of the estate.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

There must come a time when you stop running, when you turn and face the tiger. Or, dare I say, the hawk.

I stand on the top deck of Isabela's ship, alone with my thoughts, watching the port grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

Despite everything, and despite myself, the voyage from Kirkwall has had a strange effect on me. At times, I feel almost calm.

"Hawke," I nod my acknowledgement when I feel her step up behind me.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to speak to me again," she admits, sounding mildly curious as she joins me at the rail.

"Nor did I," I reply, with a grimace. "I've had a lot on my mind these past weeks. And...we've never spoken about what happened between us that night."

"Oh, those magical few hours we stopped bickering long enough to convince ourselves it was a grand idea to have sex?" she carelessly quips and I almost flinch. I look away before I speak, leaning against the railing.

"Tell me, Hawke," I begin, trying to erase all the hostility from my tone. "Did that night mean nothing to you?" It's a great long while before she chooses to reply.

"You shouldn't have left," she states quietly, staring at the water down below us. "Then you would have known that it meant everything." She doesn't say it in her usual smug tone, but it stings all the same. _Festis bei umo canavarum._

"And now?" I dare to ask, not brave enough to meet her gaze head-on.

"Fenris, I... I'm sorry," she says, looking away. "That was years ago. Now... it's Anders. I love him."

"I...I loved you, Hawke." I sputter, feeling slightly pathetic. She frowns.

"Well, you fooled me into thinking otherwise," she retorts, lips pursed.

"You have to understand how confusing it all was, how conflicted that night left me."

"I tried to," she answers. "I really did. For what it's worth." She shakes her head at herself. "I was... selfish as well; I know that. I don't know if it means anything, but I am sorry for what happened between us," she finally adds. "I realize now that I should have been more understanding."

And I'm sorry for what didn't happen. But I keep this to myself.

"If you knew how sorry I was, it might even convince you to leave the abomination," I retort, only partly serious, and trying not to sound bitter. I expect her to lash back in defense of the mage, but she only gives me a faint smile.

"Fenris..." she goes to touch my arm, then stops herself.

"Let me say what I should have said years ago, Hawke," I sigh, before she can attempt to comfort me. "I felt like a fool. That night... I've thought about why I left a thousand times. The memories, the pain they brought...it was too much. I wasn't strong enough to face it. I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. I would tell you how I felt. This is impossible, I know. I'm not expecting anything from you. I only wanted you to know."

"Do you feel better or worse?" she asks, after a lengthy pause. I smile the only way I can: with the acrid taste of truth on my lips.

"We shall see."


	4. At Sea: Two Sides

I hear a soft knock at my door and it swings open without my consent.

My eyes light up when I see it's her, but I know how it must contrast with the bags under my eyes and the weary line of my mouth.

"I've been thinking of you," I inform her, my mouth daring to twitch with a shadow of an uncertain smile.

In fact, I've been able to think of little else but her.

The one light in my life, my one source of stability, and my beacon of hope. One constantly threated by Justice in the back of my mind.

"Have you written me a song? Oh, how I do hope it rhymes," Taea replies, in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere of my dark room. She walks over to the small window as she says this, throwing open the drapes to let the sunlight in. She looks over at me, catching the wry smile I can't help but give her.

Truth be told, I'm surprised she's here at all, that she didn't kill me back in Kirkwall for what I did. It's what I deserve.

She glances at me from her spot at the window, tilting her head thoughtfully as she studies me.

"I wanted to congratulate you. You're doing an absolutely fantastic job of avoiding me," she adds conversationally, when I don't answer. She sits on the bed, leaning against me. I instinctively reach over to take her hand, then stop myself. She should be furious with me, and rightly so.

"Don't give me all the credit; it's pretty easy with everyone else there to distract you." My smile fades and I shake my head. "Taea," I begin. Without even looking at her, I already know the way her mouth twitches in silent protest at the use of her first name.

"Tell me what's wrong, Anders," she softens her tone. She rests a hand at the nape of my neck, gently running her fingers through my hair. I want to laugh.

"You mean the fact that I blew up a blighted Chantry?" I demand, cringing at the memory. "Or that I was foolish enough to hope that Justice... that part of me would disappear after I did so?" I sigh again, looking away. And now there can be no middle ground. "I've been meaning to tell you... I will leave as soon as we stop at the next port," I inform her gloomily. "It will be for the best." I look up in time to see a frown take over her pretty face.

"But you don't even know where we're going," she protests. "_I _don't even know where we're going."

"It doesn't matter. They'll be after me. And if you stay with me... I don't want to think of what they'd do to you, love. I won't endanger you any further."

Her lips purse distastefully at my words.

"You're being unreasonable," she declares.

"You're angry with me."

"Of course I'm angry with you! You've been avoiding me for weeks and have just told me you plan on deserting!" Her hand leaves my neck so she can express her irritation with the added emphasis of gestures.

That particular comment hits closer than I am comfortable with.

It's the only thing I can do right, isn't it? Escaping the Circle, running from the Wardens... and now, what am I trying to run from? Is it second nature by now?

"And don't you dare make this about Justice. We're in this mess together. Your cause is mine, and if you leave, I go with you," she stubbornly informs me.

When I look up, I see an unexpected hunger in her eyes, all but hidden behind the weary stubbornness.

"You won't be rid of me so easily," she promises, leaning forward to brush her lips against mine. "I love you." _Against all reason._

She should have killed me after what I did in Kirkwall.

She should have listened to my warnings from the very beginning.

"I wish I knew how to fix this."

"This isn't something you can solve by yourself," she points out, closing her eyes and burying her face in my neck. I pull her closer, realizing just how much I've missed her being near me. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Just wondering about the day you'll come to your senses." She laughs.

"Never."

Her breath tickles my skin and makes me grin, despite whatever we'll have to face in the near future.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

A flash of light blinds me as Justice takes over.

It's an awful feeling, being trapped in your own body, seeing out your own eyes while someone else moves you like a puppet.

And you try to scream, but there's no escape.

Until you look down at the blood on your hands.

When I can see clearly again, I watch my hands violently swing my staff in Taea's direction, but I can't stop myself and everything is so terribly wrong. My stomach clenches in horror, but I can't control my arms.

"Anders, stop!" she shouts frantically, sounding far away. She ducks away in time, and I feel something heavy hit my head from behind. "Don't hurt him, he can't help it!" she pleads to our companions as I crumble to the ground.

_I always hated the blighted Deep Roads._

When I come to, my mind is swimming and I feel a welt raised on the back of my head. The first thing I see is Taea's set of blue-green eyes above me.

My hands are in hers, though they're warm where mine are cold and clammy.

"Anders!" she exclaims, letting out a breath of relief. "You frightened me." She reaches out to touch my cheek.

"I... what happened?" I manage to ask, dazedly placing a hand to my head.

"What happened?!" Carver repeats furiously, his eyes dark with anger and hands clenched around his sword. "What happened is you attacked us, you stupid bloody mage!"

"Carver," Taea glares dangerously, a note of warning in her tone.

"Oh, just perfect, defend your abomination," he scoffs. "In case you've forgotten, we've got to sort out this... whatever it is Father did." He stalks off in the opposite direction.

She helps me sit carefully. I feel like throwing up but cough instead.

"You're okay, Blondie," Varric thumps me on the back gruffly, urging me to my feet. "Just...let's not do that again. Bianca doesn't like putting down friends."

I suppose Commander Amell was right.

You can never truly leave the Wardens.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I wake in the middle of the night with a start, my heart pounding and a sheen of sweat covering my skin. My heart only starts to slow when I look down to see Hawke's head on my chest.

I've jumped so suddenly while waking that she starts to stir.

"Anders?" she mumbles sleepily, stifling a yawn. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love," I answer, running my hand up and down her bare arm as she falls back to sleep.

I remember most of the dreams that wake me.

The good dreams, they're about Hawke and I living somewhere that looks like Ferelden, with no one but her mabari to keep us company. Sometimes, in this fantasy, there are small, lighthaired, cerulean-eyed children running about. All dreams of things I know can never be. The nightmares are more realistic.

Sometimes, I can't decide which I prefer to torture myself with.

Those dreams with Hawke's mangled body surrounded by slavers, thugs, or mercenaries looking down at her.

Even worse, Hawke with a red sunburst emblazoned on her forehead, and me too late to the scene.

At times, I believe Justice is trying to dissuade me with these visions.

I kiss the top of her head.

I don't dare fall back asleep.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Hurting you would kill me."

"Hurt me?" she repeats incredulously. "You're welcome to try. I imagine I might even enjoy it." The teasing look on her face is almost enough to undo my control.

"Hawke..." I groan, rubbing a hand over my face.

"Anders..." Taea replies with a smirk. I take a step closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and gripping lightly. Her hand reaches up to rest idly against my own. She looks up at me, innocently widening her eyes.

"No. Don't, Taea." Her mouth twitches in distaste at my use of her first name. "Please. There's only so much I can take before..." I let go and turn away. _You drive me mad._ "Has no one else captured your attentions?" I ask, with strained undertones. For years I've lain awake at night thinking of her, wanting her... torturing myself with the knowledge of whatever she had with Fenris and Maker who knows who else.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" she questions. I turn back to smile wryly in response while she leans against a spare cot in the clinic.

"Perhaps. If only for your own good." I look away again. "Humor me. Are there no Hightown nobles sniffing around the estate and getting on one knee every time you leave the manse?" I can hear my heart hammering in my ears, louder with every second she doesn't respond. I'm not sure what I want her answer to be.

"Mm. Being an apostate isn't exactly an ideal trait in a wife, now is it?" she smirks again, looking at the ceiling. "Despite how hard my mother tries..."

"Anyone who can't see past that is a fool, anyway." My lips purse. I swallow, trying and failing to keep my affections to myself once again. "But I'd be lying if I said I'm not relieved there's no one else."

"If you're referring to Fenris..." she begins. "That was... it ended a while ago. He...we're very different. It meant nothing," she concludes quickly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"I'm not," she interrupts. "Sorry, that is." She stands up and starts for the door. "I am, however, sorry you can't make up your mind, Anders."

She only gives me a meaningful look before she leaves my clinic.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The Commander rents us a room in the Crown and Lion for the night.

Had it not been for my phylactery set-up, we could've been on our way back to the Keep by now.

Meanwhile the Commander questions the inn's staff about the missing Warden and Nathaniel visits his sister, Oghren and I mingle with the locals.

"His name is Ser-Pounce-a-Lot?" one of the barmaids coos, bending over to pet him. "How precious!" I raise my eyebrows suggestively at the dwarf across the table as Pounce meows.

Oghren snorts into his tankard, eavesdropping on the conversation. I kick him under the table.

"He likes summer days and the caress of beautiful women. Much like I do," I quip, and the girl blushes prettily. Oghren rolls his eyes when she scoots closer to me.

"Is it much work, being a Warden? Killing darkspawn and the like?" she asks, all freckles and big blue eyes filled with curiosity.

"We manage," I shrug indifferently. "Of course, it does often get... lonely on nights like these..."

"I think you'll be blessed with fine company tonight, Anders, seeing as we're all sharing a room," Warden-Commander Amell interrupts, arms crossed over her chest. The serving girl quickly excuses herself and Meerah takes the seat next to me. "Sorry," she apologizes. "We've too much to discuss tonight."

"No problem, Commander. I was only showing Oghren here how a cat can do wonders for your social engagements."

"Yes, well, I know a girl or two back at the Keep that can attest to that," she retorts, raising an eyebrow at Pounce and I.

"Yeah, yeah, point taken, Sparkle-fingers," Oghren grudgingly admits, belching loudly. Meerah wrinkles her nose at our dwarven companion.

"Anyway... first order of business is finding Kristoff. We're going to take a little day trip to the Blackmarsh first thing in the morning." She lowers her voice. "After we've sorted that and are back at the Keep... we'll see about how many strings I can pull to locate our phylacteries," she adds, with a glint in her eyes that both surprises and excites me.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Moving on quickly, are we, Hawke?" Isabela raises an eyebrow, eyeing her friend's form hunched over her tankard. "First Fenris, then Anders, then...pints?"

"Something would have to have happened for me to be moving on from first," she snorts in bitter laughter.

"Speak of the darkspawn himself..." she trails off with a raised eyebrow as I step into the doorway. "I think I hear a round of fresh ale calling for me."

"May I sit?" I ask warily, pretending as if I haven't heard.

"It is Varric's chair. Perhaps you should ask him," she responds. Her eyes are trained on the tankard in front of her. I glance at Varric, who holds up his hands in neutral defense.

"I would speak with you, Hawke," I say, not moving.

"Would you?" Her tone is sarcastic and taut, her lips pursed and sea-green eyes like ice boring into mine. Her eyebrow arches in that way that's so..._Hawke_. So incredibly infuriating and entirely sexy.

"Alone," I press, wanting not to be here when Isabela returns, or if Merril joins us. Or, Maker forbid, if Fenris slinks over from his estate tonight. Taea's eyes snap up to meet mine, full of fire that slowly burns itself out as I stare back helplessly. She wordlessly stands and walks past me.

"You sure, Blondie? Some witnesses might help in case we don't see you again after tonight," Varric calls after me. I follow her down the lonely corridor, far enough from Varric's suite as to not be heard by our companions.

"Taea, I..." I begin hesitantly.

"Please don't," she sighs. Her eyes are wary, fire gone. "You'll apologize, and I'll feel awful for pressuring you." She shakes her head when my mouth opens. "I just... I can't keep...losing everyone. Father, Bethany to the Circle, Carver to the Wardens...even Fenris didn't stay more than a night," she finishes in one tired breath. "I don't want to lose you, too. Not to Justice or the templars."

"I didn't mean...I thought I'd be taking advantage of you. That's hardly fair, is it?" I laugh harshly at the thought of anything in my life being fair.

"Sometimes, I wish you'd take advantage of me," she quips. "Then maybe you'd be more a man of action than words."

"I'm trying to protect you!" I exclaim, frustrated with it all.

"Protect me?" she scoffs, rolling those pretty eyes. "From what are you protecting me, exactly?"

"From me. From Justice-" Her eyes roll at the mere mention of it- him. **Me**. I sigh audibly. "I don't know anymore."

"Well, that's one I haven't heard before," she laughs sourly. "Just admit it. It's not Justice, Anders. It's you."

"I almost killed that girl!"

"But you didn't," she challenges. Only because she was there to stop me.

"Hawke-" I groan.

"Anders..." she retorts, mocking my tone.

"You're just so...frustrating! You- "

"Me? _I'm_ frus-" Her face contorts into that stubborn Hawke scowl I can't resist.

I don't even let her finish the sentence before I grab her face and claim her lips. That irritating voice of reason in my head that I sometimes refer to as Justice reminds me how selfish I'm being.

I ignore it.

She gasps lightly as my tongue slides over hers and I pull her against me with an arm clutched around her waist. She eagerly responds, sliding a hand under my coat and knotting the other in the loose hair at the nape of my neck.

It's bliss to stop thinking for the moment, to feel her hands on me, to have her body pressed up against mine.

I hesitantly pull away, my hands skimming over her curves to settle low on her hips. I lean down to plant a few kisses on her smooth neck.

"If your door is open tonight...I will come to you," I breathe against her throat, feeling her shiver. "If not, you'll have listened to my warnings at last." I'm not sure which I fear more. I release her, and turn to go before Justice can make me regret my words.

"The cellar door might be appropriate for a midnight tryst," she calls breathlessly to my back, not seeing my face heat up at the thought.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I write almost by habit, my hand flying across the paper that becomes yet another page of my manifesto, my sense of time disappearing.

I suddenly feel a hand slide up under my tunic and her lips at the back of my neck. I pause my writing even through my inexplicable need to continue. _Justice._

"Come to bed, it's late," she purrs as she brushes her lips against my ear, making me shudder in anticipation.

"Taea..." I close my eyes as my necessity to finish the manifesto is overpowered by the thought of going to bed with her. I have to write everything before I forget, I remind myself, meanwhile her hand traces loving patterns on my chest.

"Let's see what you have so far," she continues, leaning farther over my shoulder to read the paper in front of me. Her soft hair grazes my skin.

"Hawke-"

"The Chantry teaches that magic is meant to serve man, not..." she starts to recite in an exaggerated Orlesian accent. I can't help but smile. Her eyebrows are adorably scrunched with the effort of making her accent as ridiculous as possible.

"I love you," I interrupt, grinning as I watch the light dance in her eyes.

She gives me hope that some day, two people like us can be happy without the fear of being torn apart for simply being what we are.

"Andraste was the-" she continues, but I turn my head to catch her mouth with mine. I feel her lips curve in a playful smirk as I take her face in my hands and she climbs onto my lap.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"You are not bringing that flea-ridden mongrel into the Deep Roads!" our resident Orlesian Warden bellows. Meerah rubs her temples with one hand, her eyes focused on the ceiling for a few seconds.

"Andraste's arse, Stroud! It's just a bloody cat!" she tries to reason with him.

"We're scouting Deep Road entrances in the Free Marches, not going to an Orlesian pony show!" Stroud retorts. "Blighted animal's making him soft. Either he gets rid of the cat, or they both stay here." I scowl at him. There is no way I am missing this opportunity. "I haven't the time for such nonsense. We leave at dawn, Warden. Make your decision, and do it quickly." He storms from the room, leaving Meerah and I alone.

"Don't worry, kitty," I coo, pulling Ser-Pounce-a-Lot from my pack once Stroud's out of earshot. "The nice Warden-Commander won't make me abandon you, will she?" Meerah sighs and closes her eyes, gripping the sides of her desk as if it's the only thing keeping her grounded.

"He's been a Warden ten times as long as the two of us combined," she states, opening her hazel eyes to study me. "And you're not leaving such a grand impression on our Orlesian guests."

"Orlesians aren't cat people?" I ask quizzically. "Who knew?"

"It's not about the blighted cat, Anders! It's about your blatant disregard of authority!" she exclaims, understandably exasperated.

"I thought that's what you liked best about me."

"Anders..." she sighs again, shaking her head. "You're leaving him here."

"Commander!" I protest.

"You will leave Ser-Pounce-a-Lot with me and see him upon your return from the Free Marches," she continues, ignoring me. "You will give Stroud your humblest apologies and will be the very best example of a Ferelden Warden while you travel with him."

"Yes, Commander," I sullenly reply.

"You will be sure to ask Stroud for copies of the maps in case you are...separated... for any reason," she adds, eyeing me knowingly. I don't let the surprise show on my face. "You're dismissed."

I give a nod of my head and get up to leave.

"You know, being a Grey Warden is kind of permanent," she says off-handedly, before I reach the door. "You can't exactly run from it." _Andraste's flaming knicker-weasels. _"All the same, I'm proud to have known you, Anders, whatever happens."

"I...feel the same. Thank you, Commander." She nods.

"Justice has been looking for you all afternoon, he wishes to have a word, I believe. Be sure to bid farewell to Oghren and Sigrun as well. I'm sure even Nate and Velanna will miss you." I meet her eyes one last time. "Good luck, Anders."

"Goodbye," I reply, shutting the door.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I wake up to the sound of retching. I sit up, startled to see Hawke kneeling over a bucket in the corner of the cabin and not next to me in bed.

"Taea? Are you alright, love?" I ask, quickly crossing the room to kneel at her side and rub her back.

"Maker help me," she moans dramatically, bowing her head and waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. She takes a few deep breaths before standing, using me as a support.

"What is it? Are you seasick?" I push stray waves of brown hair from her face. She shakes her head adamantly.

"I don't get seasick. I'm fine," she tries to brush me off.

"Hawke..."

"Really. Give me a few moments and I'll be ready for breakfast." I shake my head at her. She walks over to the basin, breathing deeply and then splashing water on her face. "I'm fine."

I glance out the window and frown.

"There's a galley out there, do you see that?" I ask her, squinting through the window.

"I can't see the flag they're flying. We should find Isabela," she agrees, forgetting her illness.

We immediately locate Isabela above deck.

"Looks Orlesian!" a crewman shouts down to her from the crow's nest. "Could be a pleasure barge."

"Don't assume they're friendly! We're a pirate ship, remember?" she instructs. "If it's a pleasure barge, might be they're easy prey. Or they might not. Keep your eyes open."

"Yes, Captain!"

"What can we do to help?" Taea asks her.

"You can get down below deck and hide," Isabela scowls impatiently. "Find your brother, sister, and Merrill and tell Fenris to show you the hidden compartment in my cabin. Just in case. Send him up here to me afterwards," she calmly commands, ignoring Taea's attempts to interrupt. "What?" Isabela asks, noting my stare.

"Just wondering when you became so selfless," I admit. She rolls her eyes.

"Apparently when I began hanging around you lot. You're all part of my crew now, and no one threatens my crew on my ship."

I see Hawke open her mouth to argue with Isabela's commands, but I gently push her towards the stairs.

There are some battles that aren't ours.


	5. At Sea: Shadow

[A/N: I really appreciate the reviews/follows! Thanks! :)]

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I polish and sharpen my greatsword in the sun on the upper deck, ignoring Isabela's crewmen as they go about their work.

At the very least, it keeps my mind off the rocking of the ship on windy days like today.

It's been almost two months on Isabela's blighted boat and we still haven't come to a decision.

The Wardens probably think I'm dead by now, and I feel increasingly restless and anxious with every passing day.

I don't notice Taea's presence until she's standing directly in front of me, her form blocking out the sun and shadow falling across me.

"I think it's about time we talked, don't you?" my sister asks. I don't respond right away, instead I continue to stare at my greatsword and whetstone in front of me. I don't need the closure that some of our shipmates do, despite what she may think.

"Talk? The way you like to talk lately, you're starting to sound like that mage of yours," I retort, picking up my weapon and standing in order to follow her below deck. "Tell me, sister. How long after Mother died was it that you moved him into the estate?" I sneer, regretting it as soon as I see the hurt on her face. I look away, feeling shame color my cheeks.

"You're really channeling Gamlen at the moment, brother. Is that a natural or acquired talent?" she lashes back bitingly. We come to a pause at my cabin door. Then she exhales, shaking her head. I push the door open and carefully put away my belongings before sitting at the edge of my bunk. "You weren't there," she adds quietly, her cerulean eyes downcast. Our father's cerulean Hawke eyes. "You have no idea what it was like for me to come home to that empty place. To have no one left."

"I didn't mean..." I sigh, frustrated with myself. "You've...changed since we were last able to talk, sister. How long's it been?"

"After...Mother. And what we discovered about Father," she agrees, leaning against a trunk. We still haven't told Bethany what we learned that day. If we agree on nothing else, Taea and I agree on protecting our sister.

"After that Qunari mess," I add. I'll never understand how she finds herself in the middle of almost every disaster in Thedas. "I know we've never...seen eye to eye on much."

"And I thought we'd been getting along grandly," she snorts. I take note of the sincerity behind the sarcasm. I take some time before voicing my next thoughts.

"What do you intend to do with the mage?"

"Anders," she corrects, crossing her arms defensively. "Anders is going wherever I go, and I will follow where he does. He helped us kill Meredith and save who we were able to save, and I've... forgiven him."

"So you think what he did is right?" I demand, my disgust for the abomination growing.

"Of course I don't!" she glares at me as if insulted I would think so little of her. "I can't change what Justice made him... what he's done. But I understand his reasons. The Circle doesn't work. And the Chantry enables it. And now... now things are going to be forced to change."

"Well, Maker smile on you, then," I mock. "You understand why he blew up the Grand Cleric and countless other innocent people?" Her eyes flash dangerously and I see her abomination's influence seeping out of her in waves.

"You don't know the half of it, Carver. To be ripped away from your family, mistreated, abused-" She shakes her head. "I wonder sometimes, if Bethie and I had been taken to the Circle when we were children, would you have given us a second thought?"

_Of course I would have_- that's what I want to say.

"Bethany seems fine. It's hard to see why Mother and Father worked so hard to keep you out," I continue to argue, instead.

"Bethany was lucky. You haven't the slightest notion what goes on in the Circle. Anders told me of... awful things."

"Anders this, Anders that," I roll my eyes. "Why him, out of anyone else?"

Her eyes soften and I have to look away, uncomfortable.

"You don't choose who you love, Carver. Did you expect me to execute him?" I don't comment and my hands twitch idly at my sides, wanting some inanely distracting task to occupy them.

"Do you remember when Mother found about about you and the baker's son?" I abruptly recall. She unexpectedly cracks a crookedly mischievous smile.

"Of course. I threatened to marry that idiot just to make her angry," she replies, still grinning. "And Father said that-

"-at least we'd get a discount on bread," I finish, shaking my head with a smile. She laughs, and it sounds odd. I don't know the last time I heard my sister truly laugh.

"Speaking of Lothering..." she trails off, a wicked, teasing smirk pulling at her lips."I received a letter awhile back. Peaches wrote you; she mentioned something about Barlin's shed-"

"Sod off," I grumble, ignoring the sensation of my face and ears turning bright pink. She only snorts in laughter. I feel my lips quirking upwards despite myself.

I'd once resented Taea for all our misfortune, and much more.

For leaving Lothering too late, for packing me off to the Wardens, for Mother's death-

And how was it fair that the only thing I'd inherited from Father was his hair color and his nose? While she'd received everything from his name to his eyes? His wit, his magic, his confidence...

I used to nail Bethany's braid to her headboard and hide the left of each pair of Taea's boots out of jealousy from all the time he spent with them.

But now, looking at my sister, I don't know what to feel.

**-x-x-x-x-x**-

I breathe heavily through my nose, almost panting at the effort of finally having caught up to them in the clearing.

"Carver!" Father scolds when he sees me. "You were supposed to stay. Your mother will be worried sick!"

"I want to practice too!" I stomp my foot into the dirt, clutching my practice sword stubbornly. He pushes his dark hair away from his greenish-blue eyes impatiently.

"Very well. First I need to finish a lesson with your sisters." I kick at a rock and swing my sword at a tree to pass time until he allows them to take a break. Finally, he nods at me and we spar.

"Good, Carver," he praises even as he blocks my strokes easily. "Sword steady, now-"

He loses his footing and trips backwards over a root as I make a wild swing, connecting hard with his sword arm.

"Well struck!" Father laughs as I disarm him for the first time, mud splattered all over his clothing and hair. He reaches for his sword in the puddle beside him.

"You're just ten; Father only let you win," Taea declares snottily whilst practicing simple spells with Bethany.

"Taea..." Father begins warningly, but when he turns, she sticks out her tongue at me. I scowl back.

I open my mouth to argue with my older sister when Father freezes abruptly, hushing us. I hear rustling a short distance off, not discreet or light enough for it to be an animal. I see the smug expression on Taea's face turn to fear and she wraps an arm around Bethany protectively.

"Carver, see your sisters home safely," Father instructs, ushering us into the trees. "Tell your mother to pack."

"But-"

"Go," he commands, and the three of us disappear into the brush.

I hazard a glance back to the clearing as I quickly lead my sisters away. Two men with red swords emblazoned on their silver armor burst through the trees in an attempt to flank Father. I hesitate.

"Carver!" Taea tugs at my sleeve urgently, and we run.

When we're halfway back to our farm, Bethany trips and begins to cry, but Taea pulls her along by the wrist. I grab hold of my twin's free hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, my sword held tightly in my other.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The Commander stands less than ten feet away from me, very lightly armored and holding nothing but a single blunted dagger in her right hand.

I lunge for her in an attempt to feign a rush, but she doesn't take the bait.

"Tired yet, cousin?" she smirks in such a way that reminds me of Taea.

"Not even close," I grunt, swinging at her with a practice sword. She dances out of my reach once again.

I feel a trickle of perspiration roll down my neck and wonder how it is that she's still alert and not fatigued in the slightest.

What feels like ages later, we're still at it, but I've barely managed to get at her more than a few times. She's too small a target and I'm exhausted.

Then she throws the training dagger just as I've launched myself forward, the pommel striking me square in the forehead with a heavy thunk.

I can't even get a yell of surprise out before I hit the dirt with the entire weight of my body, seeing stars on my way down.

I groan from the ground, rubbing my head and feeling dizzy enough to retch. She approaches me and wipes the sweat from her face, breathing heavily.

"That's the most fight I've had from a new recruit in a very long time," she remarks approvingly, kneeling next to me in the dirt. Her hands begin to glow a light blue as she raises her palm to my forehead. It tingles. "Where did you learn?" she questions as she heals me. I feel the dizziness slowly subside.

"Father taught me when I was young," I say, the edges of my vision still fuzzy. "I was in the Ferelden army. Only battle I was in was at Ostagar, but I still-"

"You were at Ostagar?" she abruptly questions, helping me to my feet. I rub at my forehead, feeling no bruise or any more pain.

"When they- the darkspawn attacked, and the signal lit but no one came..." I can't finish.

"I lit that signal," she informs me. Her eyes flash darkly as she studies me, but I can tell she's thinking of something distant.

"When...nothing happened and everyone started dying... I ran for Lothering," I explain disjointedly. "I had to protect Mother. And my sisters."

She nods, still lost in another time.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It feels like the blood rushing through my veins is on fire.

My entire body is heavy and it's as if my insides want to burst out of me.

"Joining the Wardens is not a cure, and we do not recruit out of pity. I took you only because Anders once saved my life. Are you going to prove me right, boy? Are you going to run off too?" Stroud asks with a harsh glare.

I only manage to shake my heavy head. He gives a gruff nod to the two Wardens supporting my weight on either side of me. They help me forward.

"Then we will begin the ritual." When I feel as if I'm about to pass out, he finally lifts the cup to my lips and I drink, immediately wanting to gag the foul substance back up. I hit the ground like a heavy sack.

When I wake up, a pair of grey eyes are studying me. A Warden stands in the doorway, a plate piled high with food in one hand and a tankard in the other.

"You were out for longer than a normal Warden," he comments, stepping inside and placing the food on the table next to me.

My head pounds and my stomach rumbles loudly at the smell of freshly cooked meat. I groan. "Who are you?" I ask the black-haired Warden, sitting up.

"Nathaniel," he answers. "You should get some more sleep. We leave for Amaranthine at dawn," he informs me.

When I wake a few mornings later, a freezing sensation covers my head, and I sit up quickly, sputtering as I wildly glance about. I wipe the water from my eyes to see the dwarven Warden standing over me and holding an empty bucket.

"Rise and shine, princess. I wanna get home," he grunts. We pack up camp as the sun peeks over the horizon.

"I tried the bitter, resentful Warden bit for quite awhile," Nathaniel informs me with a raised eyebrow, several stubbornly silent hours later.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it was all very hard for you," I snipe. I've heard the bare bones of Nathaniel and Oghren's past in their attempts to get me to make conversation.

"Careful, Warden. Making assumptions often leads to... unsavory situations and I don't know or like you well enough yet to excuse your tongue," Nathaniel warns me darkly.

"Warden-Commander Amell's gonna have fun with this one," Oghren grins sadistically.

"Amell?" I ask, startled. Maker. I can't get away from that bloody name anywhere. "How long until we get to Amaranthine?"

"We're only three days out from Ansberg," Nathaniel answers shortly.

"Probably a year until we get back to the Keep," Oghren finishes. "Hope you have good boots, kid."

"Wait. We're _walking_ all the way to Ferelden?" I demand in disbelief, pausing in my steps. He laughs obnoxiously, clapping me on the back.

"Never thought there'd be another Warden more fun to torment than Sparkle-fingers!" he snorts, amusing himself. "You're not so bad, whelp."

"Don't call me that," I snap back, annoyed. He only snickers to himself and belches. What is it with dwarves and nicknames? _Still better than being Little Hawke, though..._

"Touchy..." he snorts, amused.

"Shut up, dwarf," I growl. He only laughs.

"We'll get a ship at Wycome," Nathaniel answers blandly, but I see the hint of a smirk on his lips.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

I read the letter a few times over, wanting to believe the words less and less with each read. It's signed from Gamlen, and with no note from Taea.

I crumple it in my fist before punching the table.

It's dated three months ago.

Three months I've been an orphan without my own knowledge.

I grab my greatsword and stumble from the dining hall, tuning out the fellow Wardens calling my name.

I dazedly wander outside and into the woods, ignoring the smartingly cold rain drops hitting my face.

Mindlessly, I start hacking at a tree.

Bark flies everywhere as I mercilessly pummel the trunk.

"You'll ruin your sword that way." A voice draws me back from my rage-induced stupor. I stop and realize I'm panting and my arms are aching with a dull heat in my muscles. I wipe my face, unable to tell if the wetness is mostly from sweat, tears, or the rain.

I lean against the ruined tree and sink down into the mud, not looking at the Commander.

"I should have been there to protect her," I say to myself. _"Maker._ She could still be alive if I..."

"You don't know that," she points out. She gets a thoughtful look on her face. "I don't remember my parents much."

"I don't care about your parents; my Mother is dead!" I childishly cut her off, fisting my hands in my wet hair. "A **mage** murdered her."

"My brothers and sisters were mages," she continues, ignoring the spite in my tone.

"I don't ca-" I try to interrupt again.

"Not that I ever met them," she sits next to me in the mud. "I know they were all older, because I can't remember a time growing up with anyone else. When they took me to the Circle, I remember looking for them. I knew they had to have my mother's eyes, you know, _Amell_ eyes. But I never saw anyone that had the right color. Maybe they were sent to other Circles. Or maybe they died during their Harrowing," she shrugs. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, you should be glad you had a family for as long as you did." She stands, head tilting in contemplation. "I didn't have one until the Blight."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Carver, why don't you make sure Merrill makes it home safely?" Taea's eyes twinkle slyly and Bethany conceals a small smile behind her hand, but I ignore them and Merrill follows me to the door.

"So, you're quite... different," I blurt out, leading her outside the Hanged Man. "I mean, obviously, you're an elf, but-"

"You're quite good at swording, aren't you?" she abruptly states, peering up at me with her wide eyes.

"I... swording?" I repeat, confused.

"Those things you do with your sword," she clarifies, a little bounce in her step. "It looks tricky. Was it hard to learn? I bet one day you'll be the best sworder in Kirkwall!"

"Merrill..." I sigh, not impatiently.

"Did I miss something dirty?"

"I...what? No! It wasn't dirty. It wasn't anything," I sputter, feeling a flush color my cheeks despite the chilly night.

"Oh? Right. Just, Isabela says I miss a lot of dirty things and sometimes I wouldn't mind hearing them, you know," she babbles on as we pass near Gamlen's house.

"Would you now?" I say, despite myself. I cough. "You're, er, quite good at... magicking," I reply, lamely. She beams the rest of the way to the alienage, which draws a smile to my lips.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

After we eat, Taea shows me to the spare room of the estate, where I bathe and relax for the first time in ages. When I'm done, I head back down the stairs to find my sister standing in front of the fire with Jory asleep at her feet. I'd always been jealous of her for that blighted dog, among other things.

"Where did the mage run off to?" I wonder aloud, unable to keep the bitter undertones from my voice. She almost jumps, startled by my question.

"Anders went to check on his clinic. He won't return until late," my sister informs me, turning back to the flames. She sighs. "Part of me wishes Bethie could have come with us, but most of me is glad she didn't have to see any of it."

"We could write her," I suggest. Taea gives a harsh laugh in response.

"I don't doubt the Knight-Commander would love to hear that Father was forced to use blood magic. She might think it's hereditary. No. We can't risk telling Bethany that way." She pauses, uncertain. "Perhaps we shouldn't tell her at all."

"I was thinking the same," I admit, shrugging. "What would Mother say?" Taea matches my gaze uncertainly.

Once in a while, I hated my older sister, those seemingly unending days fighting darkspawn underground or at camp on the way back to Amaranthine or Ansberg.

Some days, I even wished that she'd have just let me die down there in the Deep Roads.

"I suppose she'd say that we do what we can to keep our family safe," she replies. She reaches out to touch my arm in reassurance for the first time in Maker knows how long.

It doesn't make me feel as if I fit into her life as Champion or even in our family estate.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Warden-Commander Amell is the exact opposite of what I expected.

This small, thin slip of a woman slew the Archdemon and became Hero of Ferelden?

"Carver Hawke, Commander," I state, back straight but having to crane my neck down to look her in the eyes.

"Hmm... you have my eyes," she declares, studying me. I blink, confused. Those stupid Amell eyes Mother always loved to go on about. "And you're from Kirkwall. Interesting."

"I'm Ferelden," I assert. "Kirkwall means less than nothing to me."

"Yet you appear to have Amell blood in you. Might we be cousins, Carver?" she questions, sounding more amused and off-handedly curious than anything else.

"I'm a Hawke," I insist, feeling no kinship with this woman, although her hair is the exact shade of brown as Taea's and her profile startlingly resembles Bethany and Mother's, now that I think about it. She even has our coloring; a shade darker than most Fereldens.

"As you will, Carver Hawke," she nods, shuffling though some papers on her desk. "I've never been to Kirkwall," she remarks.

"Kirkwall enjoys dwelling on the past a little much for my tastes," I inform her. "Not such a grand holiday location for mages, either," I add, now noticing her staff leaning against a shelf to her right. I vaguely recall Mother mentioning her cousin Revka's children all being given to the Circle.

She looks up from her desk and meets my gaze with Bethany's eyes; Mother's eyes. My eyes. I have to look away for a few seconds.

"Sometimes it's easier to dwell on what's already happened than it is to focus on what comes next," she tells me, an odd look in her expression. "That will be all, Carver. I hope you'll feel welcome with us."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Merrill!" I exclaim, startled to see her standing on the railing of the ship with nothing but a rope to support her from going overboard. She starts at my voice, but then gracefully hops down to face me.

"Hello, Carver," she greets, smiling and rocking on the balls of her feet. "I was only thinking where we might all end up."

"I expect I'll return to Amaranthine," I offer, shaking my head at her nonchalance. If she'd have fallen, she'd be swallowed up in the darkness and sea. That thought makes me uneasy. "Where will you go?"

"I haven't much thought about it," she shrugs airily. "Perhaps I'll stay on with Isabela. Or Hawke. If they'll have me."

"You don't have to go where my sister goes. You can go wherever you like," I point out.

"I wouldn't know where to start. I don't... have anyone left," she states, her voice faltering.

"Taea told me what happened," I say. "I'm sorry," I hesitantly put a hand on her small shoulder. She's surprisingly warm, despite the chill in the sea air. The moon gives her pale skin a milky glow. I give a gentle squeeze when I feel her relax into my touch. "You have us," I add.

"Yes," she smiles, lips curving sweetly before her attention shifts. "Oh! The moon is full. The Dalish have this story... would you like to hear it?" she asks, excitement all but bursting from her. I smile.

"I'd like that."


End file.
